When I was a baby, my mother would sing to me all the time. She had a lovely soprano voice that could have been compared to Barbara Streisand, one of the top vocal artists during the 1960s and later an American musical legend. One of the first songs she sang to me was the nursery song entitled, “I’m a Little Tea Pot”. The song’s lyrics were very simple, and the tune was catchy even to my baby ears.

I’m a little teapot short and stout.

Here is my handle, here is my spout.

When I get all steamed up hear me shout.

Tip me over and pour me out! [1]

This song had even more meaning for me because of a precious little gift given to me my first Christmas. A photograph was taken to commemorate the occasion, and this photo is my all-time favorite image of me as a baby. The gift I received was a small white rubber teapot with a built-in squeaker.   The little teapot had a painted face with long black eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and an angelic smile. The tea pot’s nose was its small spout. In the photo, I am clad in the requisite baby uniform, “the onesie” and I held a death grip on the little teapot. The camera even captured my wide eyed expression and bald head. My parents are shown in the picture too.   My mother holds me on her lap, and my father is knelt beside her.   All of us are seated in front of my Mom’s prized Singer sewing machine.

My mother Bozena, (also known as Bert) was a beautiful Slavic woman, slight in stature, stunning ice blue eyes, and brunette hair. She was born in February of 1931 in New York City during the height of the Great Depression. She was the middle child and had two sisters. All three girls lost their father very early. My mother was only two years old at the time. Grandma Layda raised my mom and two sisters in poverty, but she persevered, and the siblings never lacked for food, education, housing, and medical care. My grandmother was my mother’s hero, and rightly so.

Joseph (Joe) my dad was handsome Italian, who stood 5’ 5” inches tall. He had   melt-a-way brown eyes, brown hair (that had just begun to recede) and an infectious 500 watt grin. Daddy was born in October of 1930 in Danbury, Connecticut. He was the youngest of three children, the two older being girls. Daddy’s parents Angelina and Joseph Senior were your typical Italian parents and my father had a large extended family all in the Danbury area. My grandfather had built the house my dad grew up in and four others on Hayestown Heights. My grandfather was a jack of all trades and even took a stab at raising turkeys during World War II. Many people from the Danbury area would come to the Amato Turkey Farm to claim their Thanksgiving turkey every year.

It was serendipity and a bit of luck that my parents met. Danbury was Grandma Layda’s hometown, and she brought the three girls with her when she went back home for a visit.   On one of those occasions, a mutual family friend introduced my parents to each other. The two hit off and dated briefly. My mother was 17 and my father had just turned 18. After nine months of seeing each other my mom grew tired of the wild child my father was at that time and sent him a blunt “Dear John” letter. They lost track of each other for seven years but caught up with each other a second time. This time everything fell into place, love blossomed and eventually my parents were married on April 26, 1956. My mother moved to Danbury, Connecticut, and they set up housekeeping next door to my father’s parents. The house they purchased from my grandfather was one of the houses Grandpa Amato had built.

Christmas of 1962 was one of my mother’s most memorable because they had finally become parents after trying to conceive a child for six years. They had almost given up hope when I made my appearance abet one month premature on August 19th at 2 a.m. Drama accompanied me into this life from the very start. I weighed in at a paltry 5.4 lbs. In addition, I spent my first day and night on earth in a baby aquarium (incubator) in the maternity ward at Danbury Hospital. At one point, the priest was call for because I was not breathing well. My parents were finally able to bring me home three days later as soon as I had stabilized.

My childhood was a happy one. I lived with my parents and my little sister Sandra Lee who appeared 17 months after my arrival on February 20, 1964. So much for being the only child. My life was stable. I grew up on Hayestown Heights, went through Danbury’s public school system and briefly attended Western Connecticut State University, which was also located in my hometown. I got married at 20 and with my first husband moved to the apartment located on the second floor of my parent’s home. When I got married, I took along with me my little rubber teapot and the photograph that I always kept displayed prominently in my home.

My father passed away in 2001, and I asked my first husband for a divorce after nineteen years of marriage. During the time leading up to the divorce, I met my second husband through an on-line dating service. After my divorce was final, I married him and moved from the home that I had lived in for forty years to New Hartford, Connecticut. Two years after I was married to my second husband we moved from New Hartford to Otis, Massachusetts. During the time, I was married to husband Number 2 my mother came to live with us because of her declining health. She passed away in May of 2009 from complications caused by her dementia.

The second marriage was a serious mistake on my part. Eight years of emotional and physical abuse had taken their toll, and I fled after one of many life threatening incidents that occurred and spent two weeks in a domestic violence shelter. Friends and family helped me to begin building a new life on my own terms. I left all my worldly belongings behind when I left Otis. I likened my loss to the same experience that one would have if one lost one’s home due to fire or some natural disaster. There were some things I regretted losing my little rubber teapot for one.

At that time, the most important belonging I had was myself. I was truly at peace, working to reclaiming my life and most of all I was safe and no longer afraid. I immediately filed for divorce and obtained a restraining order. I did not go back to reclaim any belongings for three years. Once the divorce was final, I finally went back to remove my belongings after my ex-husband had vacated the property, and the house was being prepared for sale.

My ex-husband had put all of my belongings in garbage bags and had thrown them into a canvas Cover-It, which was heavily damaged during a snow storm in late 2013. I had to root through the trash bags, snow, and ice. I felt for a moment like an archeologist excavating and cataloging ancient artifacts at a dig site. Most of my belongings had to be thrown away, they were beyond recovery but one garbage bag was still intact. It had been buried under the others and was protected from the elements. I managed to get the bag open after some tugging and pulling. When the bag was completely open I began to sob. Inside the bag I found my favorite baby picture laying undamaged and underneath it was my little rubber teapot!

Even now over a year later whenever I am a bit sad, I take my little rubber teapot in my hands and give it a squeak. The sound never fails to make me laugh, and it brings back all my cherished memories and the love I shared with my family.   That love allows me to look towards a future that holds much promise. My teapot and I are both survivors. Who knows what will pour out next?

[1] This song was originally posted at: http://bussongs.com/songs/im-a-little-teapot.php